


The Most Brotherly Time Of The Year

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Childhood, Fluff, Holmes Brothers, Kidlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock desperately wants a special Christmas present. Who is anyone to deny him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Absolutely not. It's ridiculous."_

_"Siger..."_

_"No. I'm putting my foot down. No child of mine is getting such a frivolous toy."_

_"It makes him happy. There's no harm in letting him have some fun, is there?"_

_"The other children already call him freak enough, Violet. I don't need any more negative attention being drawn to the Holmes name."_

_"Of course. It's always been about the name, hasn't it?"_

_"Violet!"_

Mycroft Holmes crouched at the top of the stairs, trying his best to keep quiet. The eleven-year-old listened to his parents argue for another ten minutes, retreating back into the comfort of his room once the hushed whispers turned to angry shouts and cries, fighting to keep his composure. His parents had been fighting more and more often lately, with the shouts often escalating into physical violence. They always pretended it wasn't so, but he knew differently. All he could do was hope that Sherlock didn't know what was going on, though he knew that was most likely impossible, considering how brilliant his little brother was. If he wasn't already aware of his parents' fighting escalating into physical violence, he would soon enough.

He paused for a minute, then leaned against the wall, swallowing hard as another strike sounded, echoing off the walls. He wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else, so long as it was away from here. Well, only if Sherlock was with him; he'd promised his little brother long enough that they would never be separated. Though, at times, he wondered if his brother wouldn't have been better off somewhere else, somewhere away from the cold, unforgiving mansion they currently resided in, devoid of any love or affection. He pressed his palms against his eyes in an attempt to fight back the tears currently welling in them, drew in a sharp breath, pushed open his door, and was surprised to find a lump of blankets on his bed. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that the lump had a mop of unruly black curls protruding from one end of it, and was squirming. He quietly closed the door behind himself and approached the bed, smiling; his smile faded as he saw his younger brother shaking underneath the large, navy blue duvet, his tiny fingers poking out from underneath it.

"Sherlock?" he murmured, sinking down onto the mattress next to his brother and placing a gentle hand on his back. 

"My," came a small whimper from underneath the blanket, "My."

"Hm?" the ginger boy questioned, slowly pulling up the corner of the blanket and sliding under it, curling up next to his brother. "S'wrong, 'Lock?"

"Loud." the younger boy replied, curling up into a ball and pressing his palms against his ears. He rolled over and pressed his face against Mycroft's arm, then wrapped his small legs around Mycroft's waist, wanting to be as close to his older brother as possible. It made him feel safe, to be near Mycroft. It wasn't an odd behaviour, considering it had been Mycroft who had basically raised him up until that point.

"Oh," the older boy pursed his lips and pulled the four-year-old into his arms, running a soothing hand up and down his spine. "It's okay. It's just noise, it's not going to bite." he whispered, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's ear. Sherlock let out a huff. "I know it's not gonna bite," he sniffled, sounding very much like he was about to cry, "Too loud."

Mycroft recognized the early signs of a tantrum and decided to stop it in its tracks. "Shh," he hushed, giving the child a few small pats on the back, "You're okay, it's okay. Big brother won't let the noises hurt you."

Sherlock lifted his arm and wiped his nose, then sniffled again and buried his face in Mycroft's shoulder. "Promise?" he said, his voice muffled by the fabric of his older brother's shirt. "I promise," Mycroft cooed, gently bouncing the younger boy and rocking him back and forth. "You're okay, it's okay. I'll keep you safe, baby."

"Forever?"

"Yes, love, forever and ever," the ginger responded, kissing Sherlock's temple. "My baby."

"Your baby?" Sherlock smiled, "I'm your baby?"

"Yes, darling," the older boy replied, holding Sherlock close. "You are. And you always will be."

"Okay, My," Sherlock murmured, a smile threatening to split his little face in two. "I like that."

Mycroft leaned forward and rubbed his nose against Sherlock's, giving him a peck on the lips as well. "So do I."


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft picked up his schoolbag and pulled it over his shoulder, yawning; it was early, too early, but he needed to be out of the house before anyone else woke up. Mummy would just think he'd gone to school, when in reality, he had something a little more important to do before he got there.

As he padded down the hallway towards the staff's exit, he heard a noise coming from his little brother's room. He paused, then turned around and took a few steps back, peering into his brother's room through the crack in his door. The little boy was talking to his stuffed otter, his eyes serious.

"I don't know why Da doesn't want me to be a pirate. I'd share my gold with him. Maybe he doesn't think I can find gold?" he asked the stuffie, his little eyebrows furrowing in concentration. "MyMy wants me to be a pirate...why not Da?"

Mycroft's throat tightened, his resolve hardened, and he quickly trotted away from the door, careful not to make too much noise (his little brother was almost as observant as he, and would surely hear). He slipped out the door a few minutes later, heavy coat wrapped around him, and began the long walk down the path from the manor to the main road, a path he walked nearly every morning for exercise. 

Instead of going directly to school, he took a quick detour onto a different road, the one he knew led to the toy store his brother had seen his coveted Christmas present in. Or, the Christmas present he wanted, anyway. Father had deemed it ridiculous and forbidden Mycroft's mother from buying it for the child. Sherlock hadn't heard the entire fight like Mycroft had, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he most likely wasn't going to get what he wanted, and that made Mycroft angrier than anything. Whatever happened to him, he could brush off; that was just the way he was. But if anything happened to Sherlock, that was unacceptable. 

He entered the store, mildly nervous at the prospect of approaching the clerk behind the register. She looked nice enough, but he always had been slightly nervous around people other than his brother. His parents deemed it shyness, but he had read up on something called anxiety that fit his symptoms. It didn’t matter anyway, not to his parents, but he liked having at least an idea of what could be causing his problems. 

He knew the aisle where Sherlock’s coveted present was by heart, and quickly made his way towards it, between displays and large boxes that really should have been put away. He reached up to pull the box from the shelf, and smiled, holding it up. “Perfect,” he said to himself, smoothing his hand over the plastic on the front. 

“Hello?”

He froze for a moment, then took a deep breath; it was just the clerk, he told himself, nothing to be worried about. “Yes?” he turned, forcing an innocent smile. 

The blonde woman smiled at him, several curls falling down onto her forehead. “How are you today, dear? Need help finding something?”

“No, thank you,” Mycroft internally praised himself, and approached the register with Sherlock’s gift in hand. “I’d like to buy this, please.”

The woman was visibly surprised, but nodded and leaned forward. “You have money, dear?”

“Uh-huh,” Mycroft nodded, reaching into his back pocket and producing a neatly folded pile of bills and setting them down on the countertop. “It’s for my brother,” he explained as the blonde (Chelsea, her name tag said) rung up his purchase. 

“What a good brother you are,” she smiled, dimples showing in her round cheeks. She was a bit pudgy, like him, and he instantly felt a bit more comfortable; his weight was something he thought strangers were constantly judging him on, and it was nice to be around someone who most likely understood what that was like. “I’m sure he’ll be very happy. He likes pirates, yeah?” she nodded at the box, which contained a pirate hat, costume, and foam sword, along with an eyepatch. Mycroft had known the instant he saw it that Sherlock would want it, even though their father disapproved (well, that was an understatement) of dress-up. He much preferred his sons to physically fight, or at the very least bury their noses in their books.

“Loves them,” the ginger beamed as he was handed the bag that contained his purchase and change. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, love. Happy holidays,” she replied, her grin widening so the corners of her eyes crinkled up. Mycroft’s own smile widened in return, and he gave her a wave before turning and leaving the shop, tucking the bag into his schoolbag as he walked down the sidewalk.

He took a breath and sighed; he knew he’d most likely get in enormous trouble for buying the dress-up kit for his little brother, but it would be worth it just to see the little boy’s face on Christmas morning. The only thing he could do now was wait.


	3. Chapter 3

"Myyyyy!"

The little voice next to Mycroft's ear pierced the thick, dark veil of sleep that surrounded his brain, and he groggily opened one eye and yawned, the warm blankets suddenly being yanked away, leaving him half-naked and freezing. He’d wrapped and deposited Sherlock’s present at around three o’clock in the morning, and had collapsed into bed around four. He would have put it there earlier, but somehow he didn’t think entering the room when his parents were having an enormous blowup was a good idea.

"Sher," he murmured, reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "What are you-"

"MyMy!" the little voice suddenly got much closer, and Mycroft felt the mattress dip beside him before a large weight suddenly dropped onto his stomach, eliciting a loud grunt from the eleven-year-old, and two tiny hands pressed against his chubby cheeks.

"Wake up, My!" Sherlock cried happily, "Do you know what day it is?"

"Shh, shh," Mycroft murmured, reaching up to stroke Sherlock's curls as his eyes adjusted to the not-yet-light room. "Not so loud, you'll wake up Mummy and Father..." His hands hit something that was distinctly _not_ Sherlock's hair, and he opened his eyes fully. His grogginess was quickly forgotten as a smile spread across his cheeks; Sherlock was wearing both the pirate hat and the eyepatch. “Well, excuse me, Captain Holmes,”

“Father’s not here,” Sherlock said, sounding bored. 

“What do you mean?” 

“He left last night. I heard the door slam. Woke me up. When I went to talk to Mummy, she was crying. Why was she crying, My?”

Mycroft’s heart stopped; their father had left during the night. All those threats of one day leaving the family to go find someplace more ‘suitable to his needs’, and he had finally made good on all those promises. “Oh.” Mycroft couldn’t keep the mixture of both dejection and relief out of his voice. Dejection because it’s natural for children to be protective of their parents, and to love them, as he knew all too well. Also relief, both for himself and Sherlock, as neither of them would need to suffer bullying at the hands of their father again anytime soon.

“Myckie?” Sherlock cocked his head. “My?”

“Mm,” Mycroft replied, “Don’t make me walk the plank!”

Sherlock let out a high-pitched giggle, his entire body shaking with both excitement and laughter, his dark, perpetually messy curls framing his face. Mycroft grinned up at the child and stroked his hair, tucking it behind his ears and under the hat. “Tell you what, love. How about we stay in here and play for awhile, and let Mummy sleep, hm? It’s very early.”

Sherlock appeared to mull it over in his head before nodding, crawling under the covers and curling up next to Mycroft. “Presents?”

“A bit later, honey,” Mycroft soothed, “You must be tired, it’s so early.”

“A little bit,” Sherlock murmured, reaching his hand up to slip his thumb into his mouth. “Not sleepy.”

“Of course you’re not,” Mycroft chuckled, pulling Sherlock close to his chest and rolling over onto his back so the younger boy was lying atop him. Curled up, Sherlock completely fit on Mycroft’s chest, and the ginger boy smiled. “There now,” he murmured, stroking a warm, soothing hand up and down Sherlock’s back. “I’m sure you’re not tired. Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit, though? Show me how not-tired you are.”

“Okay,” the younger boy murmured, resting his head in the crook of Mycroft’s neck and letting out a soft sigh, settling into Mycroft’s embrace. The soft strokes up and down his back lulled him into a comfortable, half-asleep state, and he yawned, a small squeak escaping him. Mycroft struggled not to smile broadly at the yawn, and gently kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “There, you’re not tired at all, are you baby?”

“Hnn,” Sherlock murmured, yawning again and curling up against Mycroft’s chest, burying his face deeper in the older boy’s neck. “There we are,” the ginger cooed, kissing Sherlock’s chubby cheek. “Not sleepy at all.”

Sherlock didn’t reply, as he had been lulled into a comfortable slumber, curled up against his brother and snoring softly. Mycroft carefully pulled the duvet over the both of them, gently kissing the younger boy again. “Have a good rest, Mr. Not-Tired,” he chuckled softly, yawning and closing his own eyes.

The two remained there for several more hours, their breathing evening out and melding into each other, a silent expression of the trust and love they’d been denied from everyone but each other.

For now, it seemed, that was enough.


End file.
